Mending senses
by cyndrarae
Summary: Senses!verse: AU set some time after the S2 finale. Dean struggles to find his little brother who is lost in the darkness of catatonia. Series of 5 short drabbles.
1. Line of Sight

**Author Notes**: Part 1 of senses!verse: Dean steps out for coffee.

**x-x-x-x**

Sonofabitch. He was only gone like five minutes.

Dean drops his cup of decaf to the floor and runs back to the end of the corridor as if his life depended on it. And in a way it does. Sam's screams have a peculiar way of ripping his damn heart out.

"Hey… it's okay… I'm here now. Dean's here…"

He gathers Sam in his arms, raising him up from the bed so his head lolls sideways and comes to rest against Dean's chest. Smoothens his silken hair back from his brimming, terrified eyes and waits for the wheezing to subside, rubbing his back in long firm strokes until it does.

"You're okay Sammy," he says almost absent-mindedly, looking up once to glare at the new girl in the powder blue scrubs.

The orderly looks appropriately spooked. "I-I don't know what happened! I was just getting him ready for the night and…"

Dean knows exactly what she'd done. Switched off all the lights and lowered the bed from its upright sitting position back down so Sam would be left flat on his back, unable to look away from… from the last thing that he should be looking at.

"You're supposed to switch that on first."

She turns, struggling to follow Dean's line of sight. "What?"

"That."

There is a little red switch by the corner of the bedside table, right behind the button that rings for help. Slowly she reaches out for it, exhales and then pulls it up. Nothing happens.

She frowns and narrows her eyes at Dean like maybe he needs to be institutionalized as well.

"Look up," he whispers without looking away from Sam's face, and so she does.

It's a tiny digital projector rig aimed upwards, creating a beautiful kaleidoscopic show of lights and shadows on the ceiling… flickering stars, twin suns and crescent moons, a whole bunch of goofy animals – cats and dogs, bunnies and toads and dolphins. Birds… lots of birds.

"Always put that on before you lay him out, so he is never looking up at the blank ceiling at any time. You got that?"

She forcefully tears her eyes away from the hypnotic display overhead and nods a quick assent to the man. "I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"Don't worry about it. Johann should've told you before he left."

Dean kisses the top of Sam's head then gently starts to lower him back to the bed. Sam tenses up, counter-holding as rigidly as his weakened body would let him. But his hands don't move, lying still beside him on the bed, helpless and forgotten.

"Sleepy-time Sammy. Hey, trust me alright? It's gonna be okay…"

How long it takes for Dean to get through, he doesn't really know. But he never forces Sam against his will, least whatever's left of it. He just talks, and keeps talking, mostly utter nonsense about bleach blondes and cookie dough until the resistance melts away and Sam goes whereever his brother takes him.

Dean adjusts the pillows under Sam's head and tucks the blankets around his shoulders with utmost care. Sam's eyes stay open for a few more minutes chasing the dogs chasing the cats or maybe something else, Dean wishes he knew but he doesn't. The orderly leaves and he sinks into his chair once again with his arms crossed. He waits.

It's been three months and twelve days and Bobby is starting to lose hope. But Dean believes with all his heart that Sam is still in there, somewhere, buried deep in the darkness of fucking catatonia or whatever the doctors were calling it this month.

Sleepy-time? Dean smirks to himself thinking how Sam would bite his head off for spewing shit like that. Dean would give anything to hear that whiny bitch voice again.

"You got me out of my hell, little brother." He whispers, wishing Sam could hear him somehow.

"I'll get you out of yours. I promise."

**x-x-x-x-x**

(TBC)


	2. Touched by Darkness

**Author Notes**: Part 2 of senses!verse: Sam has another seizure.

**x-x-x-x-x**

"Go to sleep, Sammy. Please, just go to sleep."

Dean takes the ice cold hand in both his warm ones and holds on tight. The tremors still keep coming strong as ever, like Sam is re-living a nightmare, _the_ nightmare, over and over again. And there is not a damn thing Dean can do but wait for the drugs to kick in. Which sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't.

Can't believe he is actually wishing to go back to his usual chanting of "wake up, Sammy please wake up." At least, when Sam is calm and unresponsive on the surface, Dean can pretend that he is okay inside.

Swallows his tears of frustration down, watches as Sam's glassed over eyes stay fixed on the moving shadows overhead even while the rest of his body convulses violently against the restraints. The doctor comes in to try one more time.

"Mr. Carpenter, it's been three hours. He is clearly not responding to medication. You have to let us give it another try…"

"I said NO!!"

Dean's voice is loud and firm and downright scary, not that Sam is listening thank God, maybe. He is not going to let them stick electrodes all over his little brother's body and shock the hell out of him again. His brother isn't crazy, just… trapped. He allowed it four months ago and Dean never wants to hear Sam whimper like that ever again. Nor is he ready to have Sam start flinching away from his touch again any time soon.

The scientists are baffled beyond belief – how could a perfectly healthy twenty-four year old suddenly develop such an extreme form of catatonic schizophrenia practically overnight? Dean knows how, and science unfortunately will not buy his explanation for it.

"There is nothing they can do for him," Bobby had said, his voice breaking. "Not when Sam's been touched by such darkness, the greatest and darkest of them all…"

Dean pushes the terrible memories away, glares at the Swedish medic until he leaves the room in a hurry, then returns to his chair beside Sam's bed. Squeezes the hand again until he hears bones crack, and he starts to talk.

"I called Bobby, he's gonna be here anytime now, kiddo. Hang in there, alright? I got ya, shhh… I got ya…"

Sam continues to gasp and tremble, his struggles half-hearted and infrequent as he gradually exhausts himself. His fingers fall loose splaying out and Dean entwines them with his own. Strongly suspects it to be a greater comfort for him than it is for Sam.

"It's a full moon night, you're gonna love it. I know I will."

Bobby pulls the wheelchair in after him and Dean quickly gets to work. Undoes the straps so quietly even Sam doesn't seem to notice. Together they quickly dress him in clothes that once fit Sam well, but now hang off his emaciated frame as if from a hanger. Dean bundles him up in a coverlet as well as his own leather jacket to keep him warm. And then they're off.

It's when Dean is lifting him out from the wheelchair and buckling him into the seat that his agitation briefly returns. "C'mon, work with me here little brother, or you're going in the back. You wanna ride shotgun don't you? Don't you Sammy?"

The interstate leading out of Boston is empty and wide open given it's barely four in the morning. Sam stays slumped in his seat, his head resting on top of it with arms loosely crossed in front of his stomach exactly where Dean left them. Dean watches Sam about as closely as he does the road, and anyone else might have easily missed it… but Dean doesn't.

The eyelids flutter first, then the head comes up just that discernible bit. Dean casually rolls his window down and Sam lifts his face to feel the cool fall's breeze washing over his skin… touch the shimmering moonlight like he hasn't in a very long time.

His wheezing recedes until all they hear is the proud rumble of the '67 Impala. Dean exhales heavily, reaches out a hand to softly ruffle Sam's hair and expectedly, with the latest episode now behind them, he gets no reaction.

Hour later, Dean takes the exit back to Mass General where he knows absolute chaos must have ensued by now. He smirks and looks at the old man in his rearview mirror. "Thanks for looking after my car, Bobby. Think I needed to get out of there as much as my little troublemaker here…"

The old man dabs discretely at the corner of an eye but before he can respond, Dean is furiously slamming the brakes and pulling onto the gravel.

"What?"

"Did you hear him?"

Bobby frowns. "Did he say something?"

Dean leans closer to Sam's placid face, eyes wide and frowning. "I thought I heard him… like, a laugh. Scoff or something…"

Silence follows for maybe a minute as Bobby stays frozen, Sam stays impassive as always and Dean stays… hopeful.

Bobby sighs, can't decide who his heart is breaking for more – Sam for the state he is in, or Dean for getting his hopes dashed over and over again. Chooses instead to curse a little; that usually helps.

"Roll up the window, you ijjit. It's freakin' cold outside."

**x-x-x-x-x**

**(TBC)**


	3. Sounds in Silence

**Author Notes**: Part 3 of senses!verse: Dean and Bobby perform a powerful ancient ritual.

**x-x-x-x-x**

Dean waves a hand rabidly through the smoke, desperate to peel it away and with it hopefully, the fog shrouding Sam's mind as well. Good thing he disarmed the detector before they started.

Bobby coughs as he hurries back towards the bed, looks down at the frail boy still as ever, eyes glazed and moist but fixed – relentless.

Blank.

They wait. And wait… until it's pointless to wait anymore.

"You said this'd work."

"It was supposed to! The ritual's a powerful one, meant to set his consciousness free. I don't know what happened…"

Dean starts to pace, slow at first then faster. Until the length of the room isn't enough to contain his frustration and he storms out the doors, slamming them close behind him.

Bobby is crestfallen, he's never been so drastically off the mark before. Maybe he _is_ slipping in his old age. "I'm sorry, my boy," he whispers as he gathers his things. "I'm so sorry."

Dean sits on the floor outside, slumped against the wall with his face buried in his hands. Bobby knew he wouldn't go too far, he never does. Doesn't even look up as the old man walks past him to leave. He's simply too furious, too desperate too… too _defeated_, and Bobby seems a good mark to blame right about now.

Why the hell didn't it work? How long is he supposed to stand by and just watch while Sam slowly wastes away? Dean thumps his head back against the wall hard, struggling to swallow down the tears that refuse to be stopped any more.

_Dean… are you there…?_

He straightens up, hardens his face and heart once again. He can't afford to fall apart, not now.

_Please don't leave… _

Not when his little brother needs him to be strong. Dean picks himself off the floor and goes back to Sam's room. "Hey, bro. Miss me?"

The smile doesn't have to be forced, it comes automatically when he sees Sam's right hand twitching for contact. Dean quickly entwines the cold fingers with his before taking his usual seat by Sam.

"I'm here. Ain't going nowhere. I know it didn't work tonight but we're not giving up, you hear me? Bobby's working on it."

_Don't be mad…_

Dean sighs, pushes the hair back from Sam's forehead… he'd cut it a couple months ago so it won't fall into Sam's eyes anymore but the damn thing sure grew fast.

"It's not anyone's fault. And I'm not mad, just… go back to sleep, okay Sammy?"

Andrea the orderly shakes him awake next morning, and the first thing Dean does is check on Sam. His eyes are open, slanted to his left looking out the window for a change. Dean sighs, winces as he straightens his tortured back up.

"How long's he been awake?"

"About an hour. You should get some rest, Mr. Carpenter," she says, pulling open the rest of the curtains to let in the sun while also quietly checking him out. "You don't look so good."

Dean smirks and yawns all at once. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe. And I told you before Andy, call me Dean."

The girl bites her lip trying hard not to smile but doesn't get to respond as Stephen, the second orderly assigned to the Carpenters, wheels the bath-trolley into the room. Which is Dean's cue to take his much-needed break. He stands up, stretches and picks up his jacket then gives Sam's hand a quick squeeze.

"I'll see ya when you're pretty, kiddo." Winks at Andrea and walks out of the room.

The shivering starts at the base of his spine, crawling up rapidly the same time as his knees morph into jelly. Dean grips a wall just in time before he hits the floor, gasping for breath and struggling to identify the source of his sudden… fear? No.

Panic. Distress, like he's never felt before. An utter helplessness that prickles his eyes and threatens to paralyze him from head to toe. But what could possibly be so wrong?

_Dean… don't go. I need you through this… please…_

Dean frowns, surely there's nothing to worry about right? Rapidly runs through the sequence of tasks in his head just to make sure – they'll take the IVs out first, the monitor wires next and the catheter in the end, strip off the pajamas and then Stephen will pick Sam up and put him in the tub. Of course Andy will make sure the water is just right before he does and… damn it they've been doing this for months. Then where the hell is all this anxiety coming from?

_/ The ritual's a powerful one, meant to set his consciousness free. /_

Dean spins on his heels, running in and nearly startling Stephen as he's about to slip one arm under Sam's knees.

"Wait!"

"Something wrong, Mr. Carpenter?"

Sam's eyelids flutter, his breathing faster than normal. Dean looks into his brother's face and knows he did the right thing coming back.

"Guys, do you mind if I stick around and help?" Without waiting for an answer he gathers Sam into his arms. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I didn't know. It'll never happen again, I promise you, okay? Okay Sammy?"

The orderlies _look_ at each other, but wisely keep their mouths shut, knowing better than to argue when the man's in full-on overprotective big-brother mode. They let Dean recheck the temperature and stand back as he lowers Sam into the bathwater.

"He seems more responsive today, Mr. Carpenter."

Dean smiles, shaking his head as Sam on a spastic motor reflex, attempts to dip his head under the water. "Ah, you big dufus," he softly chides, making Andrea giggle.

So maybe this is the best the ritual could do. Or maybe Dean's finally lost his marbles, and is hearing imaginary sounds in the never-ending silence?

_Call Bobby… apologize… _

Better yet, maybe this is the voice of his conscience. Which would mean Sam again… if it weren't for Sammy, he'd have lost his way years ago.

Dean rolls up his sleeves, opens the bottle of shampoo and gets to work.

"Hey it's not my fault your damn hair grows like wild weed, kiddo! Yes, Yes. I'll cut it again."

**x-x-x-x-x**

(TBC)


	4. Essence of Kinnikinnick

**Author Notes: **Part 4 of senses!verse: Dean makes a deal to save Sam. Again.

**x-x-x-x-x**

"I'm going to kill her."

Dean scratches his new beard, glancing at his watch for a third time in two minutes and pacing the length of the Chesapeake Bay fishing pier. He's been away two weeks this time. _Two weeks_.

"This time I will, for damn _fucking_ sure."

"Oh keep your Alans on." Dean whips around towards Bela as she steps out onto the pier. "I'm here."

Dean doesn't bother to yell at her for being fifty minutes late; his voice is cold enough. "Where is it?"

Bela checks him out from head to toe, then pulls out a small package from her tote bag and throws it toward Dean. He catches it, peeling the brown paper open as carefully as he can and studies the contents.

"You know, I met your dad once."

He ignores her. "These for real?"

She ignores him back. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

This time Dean glares at her. She laughs shortly, her gaze nervously flitting away as she gestures toward a redwood box sitting on the ground beside Dean. "As real as the contents of that box, I suppose."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Bela, if you're playing me again…"

"You've spent months tracking down a werewolf and his mate to get me their bonded hearts… an artifact that will make my very eccentric buyer very happy indeed, and me very rich in return. I won't bother to ask you if it was hard to kill a human because I know you've gone _way_ beyond the point of caring for crap like that anymore…"

"Psycho killer bitch's worse than a werewolf if you ask me."

Bela carries on egging him like he never spoke. "But I know how hard it's been being separated from Sam, hasn't it?"

Dean's face hardens as he looks away from Bela's boring eyes. Picks up the box and shoves it at her. "If this turns out to be anything _but_ what I paid for, I promise I'll track _you_ down and happily rip your heart out."

Bela smirks but she can't hide the tremor coursing down her body and Dean smirks back. He turns and leaves without another word… if he started now, he could be in Boston by midnight.

Andrea smiles and rises from her place beside Sam's bed. Dean nods back, collapsing heavily in the seat vacated by the orderly. She quickly explains that Bobby just stepped out but Dean waves it away. He's fine so long as someone he trusts stays by Sam's side, and in the last ten months he'd come to trust Andrea. A little. Enough.

He squeezes Sam's hand and pushes the wild strands of hair from his face. Sam's eyes are open and he's staring out the window, either unaware or unconcerned that his big brother was finally back.

"Hey, kiddo. You're awake! Hey… it's Dean. How're you doing Sammy?"

Andrea is used to Dean having one-sided conversations with his catatonic brother. At first it seemed just that - a desperate man talking to himself. Then a few months ago it became something else… like he's on a cellphone and Andrea can hear one side of a full-duplex conversation going on inside his head. She ignores it usually, but what really worries her is when it stops. Because sometimes it does.

Dean caresses Sam's face trying to get his attention. "Sammy… I'm sorry I left. Are you mad at me? Talk to me, please?"

Nothing. Sam has his off-days, days when he's so far gone Dean can't reach him at all. Drives him damn near crazy.

Bobby walks in then, gives Andrea the look she knows well. Quietly she makes herself scarce and Bobby closes the door behind her. "How long since you shaved?"

Dean's responding face is a classic 'wtf' that makes Bobby quit his staring and shrug out of his jacket. "Show me."

Dean hands over the package without leaving Sam's side, tucking his blankets and fixing his pillows and generally fussing over the boy who couldn't care less.

Bobby whistles. "She actually found 'em."

"What are those? Candles?"

"Essence of Kinnikinnick three hundred years old, with a combination of Hounds-Tongue, Toadflax and Valerian."

"Yummy. What does it do?"

"According to my source, the incense should be strong enough to provide the one 'external stimuli' Sammy won't be able to ignore."

Yeah, both men are pretty adept at catatonia-speak by now. Dean swallows, ashamed to admit that he's slowly losing hope. After all, what _hadn't_ they tried in the last ten months?

"Maybe, he doesn't _wanna_ come back. Maybe… this is his way of doing what he's always wanted – get away from it all…"

Before Dean can finish Bobby is grabbing his left shoulder and shaking him with all his might. "Sixty six demons, Dean… not one, not two, not four! Sixty fucking six!"

Dean sighs closing his eyes and Bobby lets go with a cruel jerk. "It's true he let them possess him on purpose. But Sam was the one in control," Bobby's voice drops to a whisper then, "until that last _fucking_ minute. And he did it for you."

Memories of the final battle rush back into Dean's head with a burst of fiery agony. "I told him not to do it, I begged him…"

"It was the only way to get Belial and you know that. For your soul and who knows how many others…"

"It's not worth it, Bobby! I need my brother back. Please… tell me this will work."

The lack of response surprises no one, and silently they get to work. Arrange the candles in a pentagram around Sam's bed before lighting them. Dean disconnects the smoke alarm, again, and they sit down to wait. Again.

Birds chirping. Dean stretches in his chair but keeps his eyes closed, he really _really_ hates that sound 'cause it means it's time to wake up, and considering how exhausted he's been these days…

"You look like Dad."

Dean opens his eyes.

Sam's voice is weak and raspy from months of being unused. His eyes appear to have aged overnight, like that of a war veteran who's seen too many horrors to last three lifetimes, maybe more. At least they aren't dead anymore.

"Yeah well," Dean clears his throat that's already threatening to close up. "You look like mom, always have. So there."

Dean hasn't seen those dimples in ten months. Maybe more considering Sam pretty much stopped smiling in the last days of what was supposed to be Dean's last year. And now Dean can't stop the tears anymore. "God, Sammy…"

He takes his fragile little brother into his arms, also discretely pressing the bell to call in the doctors. Sam's back. Everything's going to be alright.

"Dean?"

Dean pulls back slightly so he can look into Sam's face. "Yeah kiddo."

It's hard to speak but nobody can shut him up now. "I was lost. I wanted to find my way out, I really did…"

"I know Sammy, it's okay…"

"It was… like a maze, so dark and…"

"Shhh. It's okay now. You did find your way out, that's my boy." Dean holds Sam close for a long while, burying his face in his brother's soft smelling hair.

"The candles. You followed the scent, didn't you?"

"Actually," Sam sighs. "I was running away from it."

Dean frowns in confusion and Sam makes a sheepish face. "It kinda stinks in here, Dean. And um, you're… kinda ripe too."

Beat.

"Bitch."

Sam chuckles burrowing back into Dean's chest tiredly, his response understood though it remains unsaid.

**x-x-x-x-x**

(TBC)


	5. Bittersweet at Best

**Author Notes**: Last part of the senses!verse: The long road to recovery for Sam.

**x-x-x-x-x**

"I told you game's in timeout Sammy. C'mon. Finish your dinner."

Dean pulls his brother back against his chest for the fourth time. The bed creaks under the weight of the two men and Sam groans in protest.

Lets go of the plastic white knight in his hand and it drops to the magnetic chessboard at its intended position. Sighs and leans against his brother sitting just behind him, his head coming to rest on Dean's left shoulder again. Much to his chagrin, Dean has taken to feeding him personally ever since Sam took to rejecting the bad hospital food.

"This stuff is disgusting Dean," he pouts, just in time before Dean plugs his mouth with another spoonful of soup.

"Hang in there kiddo. Two more weeks and then we blow this joint. Think you'll be ready for a nice big juicy Black Angus cheeseburger by that time?"

Dean smacks his lips teasingly making Sam scowl, "That's cruel man. You won't believe how much I hate you right now."

Dean scowls back, "What I can't believe is how much I wanted you to start talking again," and gently spoons in more cream of tomato into Sam's mouth.

Bobby walks in then, nodding at the boys with an extra smile for Sam. "How're you doing, Sammy?"

Sam smiles back and would have said something, except he feels his brother stiffen behind him. Bobby's eyes flicker away to meet Dean's and his smile fades away.

Dean clears his throat, suddenly in a hurry to get it over with. Of course. "Okay, three more to go. Open up."

Sam briefly considers throwing a fit or two but when did that ever work for him anyway? Instead he glares up at Bobby, the accusation crystal clear in his eyes. The old man sighs and looks away.

"Sammy c'mon, we're nearly done."

It's been two weeks since Sam woke up, but his voice is still a rasp, soft and frail and right now, uncannily bitter. "So how long this time?"

Dean's chest heaves once against his back and Sam is grimacing already. They don't even bother to make any justifiable excuses – no "Tamara's life is in danger" or "Henricksen needs our help." Not even a sarcastic "Fate of the world hangs in the balance."

"Two days, at most. Open up."

Sam obviously doesn't. The impasse is broken when Bobby raises an eyebrow signaling to Dean they were getting late and the older brother gives up. Pushes the food-tray aside and shrugging into his jacket, starts searching for his keys.

Bobby makes his escape first, "I'll go wait in the car."

Dean winces, cursing Bobby now that he's left alone to face his brother's wrath. Turns toward Sam slowly, only to find him staring out the window again. He hates it when Sam does that. Dean never wants to see that deathlike blankness in his little brother's eyes again.

"Look, Sam…" he tries. "Bela is paying real good money for this procurement."

Sam scoffs, "Procurement? Listen to yourself Dean. You sound like her already."

"We have bills to pay, okay? And especially with your physiotherapy…"

"Don't do me any favors Dean. I'll find a way to pay my own bills, thank you very much!"

Silence.

Sam purses his lips and looks away but he knows the damage is done and this time it's possibly irreparable. His heart starts to race with sheer panic of how Dean is about to react. Yelling he can handle.

_Please don't walk away. I'm sorry I said that. Please don't go._

The bed dips, taking Sam by surprise and he looks up. Dean sits by his side, looking into Sam's face with nothing but resignation in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Sam can't believe his ears. "You're sorry? Why?"

Dean shrugs, "I shouldn't have made it sound like I'm doing this for you. Because I'm not."

_You're all I have left, Sammy._

Sam swallows, too ashamed to meet his eyes anymore. His big brother raises a hand slowly so as not to spook Sam with any sudden movements, brings it up to cup the left side of Sam's face. The touch lasts for maybe two seconds, three at most.

Then without another word, Dean is gone.

Sam glares at the clock through slanted eyes, Dean had better get his ass back within the hour like he promised. He lets Andrea adjust the pillows preparing him for the night, face turned away so she can't see the tear sliding down one cheek.

Sure they're born and bred hunters, it's in their blood. Hunting is all Dean's ever known. But it stings like hell to see him transition back into it so easily… like the last year changed nothing. Like they'd just been on a fucking break.

Sam catches himself looking up and quickly looks away. Still hurts… the grotesque visions of everyone he's ever loved pinned to the ceiling, burning to their deaths while Sam lived on, alone…

He finds himself wishing he'd never woken up at all. Maybe then he could keep Dean safe from… from what? Dean himself?

"You know, he started going away long before you woke up."

Sam starts, at first because he didn't realize Andrea was still in the room, then worried that he's been voicing his morbid thoughts aloud all this time.

"What did you say?"

She calibrates the pulse monitor and speaks softly without actually looking at him. "I suppose there are some things he simply must do. Things he was _meant_ to do. We all have our destinies to fulfill, after all."

Andrea picks up a bottle of throat-soother syrup from the side table before approaching Sam's bed. He briefly considers refusing it before reminding himself that Dean isn't around, which kind of defeats the purpose of a tantrum anyway. Instead he rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Are you saying my brother's job is more important than… this?"

"Are you saying it's not?"

Fire alarms go off in his head and Sam can't muster up enough composure to so much as blink. "Do you know what Dean's job is?"

She smiles, pours out a dose of the medicine and holds it at Sam's lips. Wincing in anticipation of the bittersweet torture about to hit his taste buds, he opens his mouth then quickly swallows and waits for her to respond. But she just turns away.

"Andrea, wait…"

The nurse has always been so quiet, almost invisible even though she's taken care of Sam for months. She's the only one Dean trusts completely. Maybe his brother's been blurting more secrets about the Winchesters to her than Sam realized.

Calmly she puts the supplies back in their place and returns to tuck the blankets in around Sam.

"Please don't doubt your brother Mr. Carpenter – he's on the right path, always has been. And don't worry about his safety either. He's going to be just fine."

Sam's voice is breathless, not more than a whisper. "How do you know that, Andrea?"

"There is someone out there watching over him, just like I am here. Watching over _you_."

Sam swallows, hard.

"It's the least we can do."

She smiles again, subtle as always, almost as if it were her default expression and now that Sam thinks about it he's never really looked at her this close before. Never noticed how her eyes sparkle bright as gold even in the dull glimmer of his nightlights.

"Good night, Sam."

She turns to walk out of the room. That's when he sees the _other_ thing he's never noticed about nurse Andrea Michael before. The vision is shaky and ethereal… there one instant and gone the next but reveals to Sam what he needs to see. A giant pair of dark emerald green wings spread open on either side of Andrea's proud shoulders… unfurling to their full majestic span, vanishing into thin air just before she reaches behind her and closes the door.

Sam lies curled up on his side, still shuddering when soft light spills in through the open doorway and Dean quietly slips into his room. In the flickering shadows Dean sees his brother's face wet with tears.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" He rushes in, taking up his usual place by Sam's side. "Hey… it's okay. I'm here now. I'm alright, see? Shhh… it's okay. Everything's okay…"

It's only when he switches on a lamp that Dean notices the strangest expression on his brother's face. Something indescribable, something he's never seen before and yet somehow feels familiar - like a long lost memory. Something that, to Dean looks like redemption… and peace.

"I know, Dean." Sam smiles, burying and wiping his face in Dean's shirt because apparently, that is now allowed.

"Everything's going to be okay."

**x-x-x-x-x**

**THE END**


End file.
